


Aubergine and peach soup

by diner_drama



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, emojis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/diner_drama
Summary: "Angel, I don't understand this recipe you sent me," said Crowley one day, breezing into the shop."Recipe?" The angel racked his brain to remember his previous message, which he was fairly certain had been a rather saucy invitation to certain nocturnal activities."I really don't think that aubergine and peach would go at all well together, especially not in a soup. Is it a soup?" He waved his phone under Aziraphale's nose. "There's water droplets, I think?"





	Aubergine and peach soup

**Author's Note:**

> [If you haven't seen this video then this will make very little sense to you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UztioBpKlRk).
> 
> Also, Americans: "aubergine" is what we call "eggplant" over the pond.

Aziraphale sealed the envelope with wax and dropped it primly into the letterbox outside his bookshop, whereupon the message within was converted into a stream of ones and zeroes and rendered in high resolution on Crowley's sleek, black smartphone.

Crowley, ever on the bleeding edge of modern technology, preferred to text message, but Aziraphale found mobile telphones to be utterly terrifying, so they'd worked out a system whereby Crowley could text away to his heart's content and the angel would find his messages, neatly typed on telegram cards, instantly transported to wherever he happened to be and slipped lovingly into the inside pocket of his jacket.

They had relied on a number of methods of communication throughout the years. Through the 14th century they'd played a number of games of chess against one another, entirely through the medium of scribbled notes on parchment, hastily delivered by mounted courier. The less said about Crowley's brief experiment with carrier pigeons, the better*.

Aziraphale, as he had for millenia, picked up piecemeal the parts of contemporary culture that he liked and discarded the rest. His dislike of modern technology did not extend to emojis, which he embraced with a passionate zeal, and could use in a number of creative ways. Many of his hand-written letters were littered with cry-laughing faces and heart-eyes, beautifully shaded in meticulously detailed charcoal.

Sometimes, this could cause miscommunications.

"Angel, I don't understand this recipe you sent me," said Crowley one day, breezing into the shop.

"Recipe?" The angel racked his brain to remember his previous message, which he was fairly certain had been a rather saucy invitation to certain nocturnal activities.

"I really don't think that aubergine and peach would go at all well together, especially not in a soup. Is it a soup?" He waved his phone under Aziraphale's nose. "There's water droplets, I think?"

"Oh," hemmed the angel. "Ah, you see, this wasn't strictly-"

"I mean, I brought all the ingredients," continued Crowley, pulling fruit from a carrier bag, "but I'm very skeptical."

"My dear boy, this was really more of a figurative-"

"These peaches are _lovely_ and ripe though," he said, bringing one up to Aziraphale's face so that he could smell it.

"Crowley! It was an _innuendo_."

The demon stalled, regarding the peach with great curiosity. "What does it mean?"

"Surely you must know!"

Crowley just stared at the angel for a long moment, slack jawed. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"I suppose I'll just have to show you, darling," he said, pulling him by the hand into the back room.

**Author's Note:**

> * Crowley had received a well-earned commendation for the subsequent widespread adoption of a means of communication that lacked speed, accuracy, and bowel control.


End file.
